Slightly Irresistible
by ThreeHundredStarsAbove
Summary: Meg encounters Guy of Gisborne for the first time. What are her thoughts on the dark knight? Oneshot, dedicated to Lady Gisborne 15 :)


**A/N: Okay folks, this little piece here is dedicated to my very talented Fan Fiction friend, _Lady Gisborne 15_. The events described here take place about four years before the beginning of my other story '_When I Sleep_', so those two are kind of connected and Meredith is still Meg's cousin. Written from Meg's POV, and it will eventually help to explain some things from 'WIS'. I hope you enjoy! :)**

**Disclaimer: I (unfortunately) don't own Robin Hood BBC or any of its characters.**

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I think it happened some four years ago, around January. Yes, my mother always used to say I'd get into trouble someday (taking after my short-tempered father and all), but I never listened to what she said. Trouble had a way of finding me anyway, so why bother with running away from it? And I'm no coward, ask whoever you want. I really was afraid of nothing and no one, until the day when I encountered a certain proud knight... but maybe let's start from the beginning.

In wintertime we'd usually be living hand-to-mouth, along with all of the less fortunate of Nottingham. The village of Lenton wasn't the best place to live in, but at least we had a roof (or what was left of it) over our heads, and the generosity of our neighbors to keep us alive during the hard times. Sometimes Day would visit and we would go to the market to watch the merchants from all over England, buying, selling and talking with the people that crowded around their stalls. We'd rarely have the money to buy anything other than food... and even that we purchased in no great quantity. But the merriment around us, the stark colors shining against the blankness of the omnipresent snow often made up for empty bellies and too-thin layers of clothing.

We'd laugh at the nobles, who wore those ridiculous-looking furs, warm cloaks and hide gloves, but still shivered in the cold. At this time of year they'd abandon their beautiful steeds, usually travelling by coaches covered on the inside with soft materials, not minding the merciless weather we, the commoners, had to endure. '_That's just the way of the world, Meghan_' Meredith used to say when yet another noble-filled, warm and cozy coach would pass us by. '_They have riches one can touch and count, but _we_... well, _we_'ve got something they could never purchase with all the money that they possess._' She'd refuse to elaborate that thought further. I could only suppose that by '_something_' she meant things that were grander than hunger and poverty.

I blamed the new sheriff and his haughty captain for our hardships. Though I had never seen either of them until later that year, I thought of them as the worst of the bad people who walk this earth; people who feed on misery and suffering of the less fortunate. Oh, how I hated the two of them, along with their council of nobles and all the other rich people in the county! How I wished the great king Richard would come and rid the land from their evil! But the years passed, and no help, no forecast of freedom came. The worst of all was the knowledge that the people were gradually losing their hopes for a better life. Seeing their arms sinking lower and lower in defeat, hearing the words 'The king will come' spoken with ever less and less conviction, helped me realize that life was no fairy tale: that we should stop dreaming and deal with the obstacles ourselves.

But then _it_ happened, and some things I had been so sure of until that time, began to change.

That January day a great blizzard had come to torment Nottingham. The wind was howling like a wounded wolf, and the cold was biting more than ever. Meredith and I were on our way back from the grocer's, deep in conversation as usual, when suddenly we bumped into someone... or rather _someone_ bumped into _us,_ to be precise.

The ground was slippery and so the three of us ended up sprawled on the ground in a most unladylike manner. My first instinct was to reach for the basked I'd dropped to check if the food survived intact, but then I heard a quiet 'oomph' next to me, and forgot about the basket altogether. Between me and Meredith lay a noblewoman, roughly my cousin's age, with beautiful, dark hair that escaped from underneath her fur-lined hood when she fell. She wore fewer layers of rich clothing that any other noble we had seen, and if not for the golden ornament pinned above her heart, she could've been easily mistaken for just another of the merchants' daughters. But when one took a closer look, her gentle eyes and noble features clearly belayed the ordinary garb.

Meredith scrambled to her feet and quickly helped the her up, but all _I_ could do was stare at the unusual lady with amazement. Though my cousin is considered 'good-looking', it is rather her character than her looks that make her special. While the dark-haired woman... well, she was truly a thing of beauty.

"Please forgive us my lady!" I heard Meredith say. "We should've moved out of the way..."

"Nonsense!" the lady huffed, nervously brushing off the snow that still clung to her coat and dress. "It is I who should apologize. As a matter of fact, I didn't see you in this blizzard–"

Then suddenly her eyes widened and her voice fell to silence. She must've heard or seen something behind us; something that terrified her, no less. She took Meredith's hand in both of hers and stared straight into her eyes as if her life depended on it.

"You did not see me, understand? I never passed this way" she said with emphasis. Her lips were trembling, but I'm sure it wasn't due to the cold weather.

Meredith looked rather surprised, but nodded in response. Then, as quickly as she appeared, the unusual lady was gone. The veil of falling snow closed behind her, and my basket which still lay in the snow was the only witness that we had ever met.

"_Who_ was that?" I remember asking as I finally got off the frozen ground and picked up the remains of the food we purchased. "She looked as if she was being chased by a devil..."

Not five seconds passed after I asked that question, when something black and tall appeared in the distance behind Meredith's back. It stood out against the perfect whiteness of the snow, and was moving rather fast towards us.

"_Move back_!" my cousin hissed, withdrawing to the edge of the road and beginning to walk hurriedly down the pathway. I followed immediately, disturbed by the tone of urgency in her voice.

When the muffled sound of hooves against the frozen ground pierced through the snowstorm, we knew the rider was nearly upon us. I still don't know why, but for the first time it occurred to me that I was not _entirely_ above fear. I remember yielding to the urge of looking back at the rider. I wish I had not.

Out of the snowstorm, out of the howling wind and piercing cold he rode – a man in black on his black horse; Guy of Gisborne, the great '_I Am_'.

To me, being a fifteen-year-old meant that I was beginning to understand some rules of attraction that drew women to certain types of men, and the other way around. I've seen one or two good-looking boys around my village, but thinking of them in the same way as of this man would be like comparing little kittens with a lion or a wild panther. Guy of Gisborne... he was the most graceful of all dark characters I have encountered in my whole life.

He wore a fur-lined cloak with a pelt that billowed round his already broad shoulders, adding to his look of grim authority. He had pushed back the big hood, letting his mane of raven-black hair whip around his face; His eyes were trained on the road ahead, his features firm, brows set into a stern line.

The man seemed to be one with his mount - his movements were fluid and his form relaxed with the awareness of being in complete control. I wouldn't have been able to tear my eyes from him, had he not stopped his steed just a few feet from us.

"You there!" that imperial voice was impossible to mistake with any other. "Did Lady Marian pass this way?"

Meredith had the comfort of having a hood to pull over her head before the lord could see her features. I, for one, wasn't as fortunate.

"Answer me!" there was a sound of a sword being pulled out of its sheath. Meredith gave both the rider and his sword a short glance, but before she could answer I blurted out:

"We saw no one this morning, my lord!"

Oh that blasted tongue of mine! I wanted so much to sound entirely sure of my words... but failed terribly instead. Then I looked up at him, straight into his eyes – another gigantic mistake. They were dark grey, like the sky in winter; cold, like a lake frozen-over; deep, as though you could drown in them and not even leave one mark on their surface...

"You're lying."

And then suddenly I felt something sharp touching the base of my throat. It was colder than the snow and the wind... and it stung with a terrifying realization of my own weakness against the black rider. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe his eyes were those of a cold-blooded murderer, a devil's associate... Maybe all they said about him was true after all...

The next moment I felt an open palm connect with my cheek. As I stumbled backwards and away from the deadly blade, I realized it was Meredith who hit me.

"Reckless girl!" she spat, sounding so different from her usual self, that it could've been another person speaking. "How dare you lie like this?! I beg your forgiveness sir knight, my sister isn't exactly right in the head-"

"Where. Did. Lady. Marian. Go" it wasn't a question anymore, but an order, accented by the blade that now turned to Meredith. "Tell me or else–"

"The goldsmith's shop" my cousin interrupted, pointing to the eastern quarter of the city. "She passed us by not long ago. If you hurry, sir, you might still catch up with her."

She said it with such steadiness and conviction that one might've thought she didn't see the blade at her throat. Of course the lady had turned north, not east like Meredith said. But the deadly sword did not move, and its owner kept looking down at the two of us with a steely gaze, possibly weighing our words. Meredith didn't raise her head, bowing low before the dark figure.

And then suddenly the man withdrew his blade, kicked the sides of his mount, and without another word galloped west - in the opposite direction to the one pointed by my cousin.

Almost as soon as he disappeared around the next bend, Meredith turned all of her attention to me, looking as pale as the snow around us.

"Are you all right?" she touched the hurting cheek carefully, and then scooped up some of the snow to put it gently against the side of my face. "I tried not to hit you too hard, but it had to look realistic enough for him to believe..."

"He really would've done it, wouldn't he?" I managed to mutter under my breath. "Kill us, I mean."

My cousin took the basket from me, smiling faintly.

"I... don't know..." She confessed. "...Though it's better not to take chances with one of Sheriff's men."

I had been thinking about that accident all the way home, during the scarce dinner with my family, and even in the evening, when my mother and I sat together by the hearth to continue our daily lessons of embroidery.

During all that time, the image of the sinfully graceful, black-clad knight haunted my thoughts - his low, masculine voice echoing at the back of my head, too beautiful and too _insufferably_ seductive to bear. '_It'll pass. You'll forget about him soon_' I told myself before falling asleep later that evening.

But the days passed, turning into weeks and months, during which not only did his image not falter, but it grew much more vivid, developing a stronger hold on my heart every time I saw him on the streets of Nottingham.

Then a day came when I had no choice but to admit that my imaginary attraction had gone a fraction too far. So I began to avoid his company as much as possible, trying at the same time to think of him only as a cold-blooded killer and the sheriff's pawn that he was. With time I understood that if I could not hold any warmer feeling towards him, I'd have to learn to hate him like most people of Nottingham do. It would be the easiest way to get him out of my thoughts and heart, or so I thought.

But nevertheless, not even the forced feeling of hatred could prevent me from thinking that he was... and still is... _slightly_ _irresistible_.

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**AnotherAuthorNote: Again, congrats to _Lady Gisborne 15_ for winning the 100th-reviewer-contest! I know it's not exactly what you asked for, but I did the best I could :) And you, dear reader, should seriously check her stories, they're truly wonderful! :)**


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